


Better Than Ice Cream

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1318078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for tumblr ask box anon prompt: "Jean and Marco going to get ice cream on a hot summers day."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Ice Cream

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that is a Sarah McLachlan reference.

Marco had ice cream once. It was when he was 10, and a neighbor had been lucky enough to inherit a cow from some deceased relative. They’d made _everything_ that summer that could be conceived of using dairy, but the best was the ice cream. He can still taste it sometimes, in his dreams.

It’s hot and they’re training. Even Marco is flagging, despite his normal conviction, and he thinks he’s going to surely die if he runs one more mile. Oh well, keep going. That’s the only thing you can do.

Jean is right next to him, looking a worse for the wear, but not complaining. Jean has finished every run since they started years ago. He might have an ego, but at least there’s a reason most of the time.

They’ve only got half a mile left, when unexpectedly, Jean slows down.

“Meet you back at camp,” he says simply, and when Marco’s eyes widen, Jean speeds back up and outruns him. Leave it to Jean and his hidden reserves of strength.

Marco is curious enough to speed up too, though, despite the summer heat. He reaches the finish line second, and is allowed to have first dibs on the showers. He doesn’t take it, though, and goes straight to the bunks.

Jean is waiting for him, grinning.

“What—”

Jean has a banged up plate, and on it, Marco sees something familiar.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asks, his eyes wide.

It’s not that they’re not fed well. It’s just that nothing actually tastes good; a fact that Marco has privately mourned, given that he grew up eating his mother’s cooking. When you don’t have a lot to work with, you get creative, and sometimes, really good. Everyone in their town always said she could open her own restaurant in Trost someday.

“Ice cream,” Jean nods in absolute, self-satisfied confirmation. “Real stuff, too. Traded it for a few combat lessons. Sasha realized she was going to fail.”

“It’s contraband?”

“Yup.”

Jean takes a bite, and Marco can’t help but watch the way the cold cream sticks to his lip, the way his tongue darts out to lick it clean.

“And you want to share it with me?”

“You think I would’ve asked you just to torture you?”

Marco laughs a little, and steals the spoon from Jean’s hand. “Maybe.”

“Don’t be a moron, Marco.”

Marco takes a bite, and he can’t help the way his eyes slide shut. He’s even sure he moans slightly—it’s _that_ good—and when he opens them again, Jean is openly staring at him. And blushing.

Jean Kirschtein is actually blushing; but then he looks away.

“Didn’t know you were that desperate for _ice cream,”_ he coughs brusquely. “C’mon, don’t eat the whole damn thing.”

They finish in silence, and Jean slides the incriminating dish under his bed in bottom bunk. (He sleeps there, and Marco happens to sleep in the top one right above him. It’s convenient, given how late into the night they talk sometimes.)

Marco finally smiles as Jean refuses to meet his eyes, and he reaches out to wipe some of the ice cream away from Jean’s chin with his thumb.

Exactly a quarter of Jean’s mouth curves into a tiny smile—maybe even a smirk—but that’s enough for Marco.


End file.
